Unmasked

by Kevin J. Anderson

  It tried not to be disappointed.

  After all, Teisha continued to lavish attention on the mask. She talked to it, carried it to school to show her friends, even sometimes put it on when it matched her clothes exactly. But she showed no inclination to wander the city, stopping villains.

  It was better than sitting in a cupboard all day. At least the mask was grateful for that. But it still missed its days of adventure, of scouring the city for the Mad Menacer or the Slippery Sizzler. As nice as Teisha was, being her mask didn’t quite live up to the past.

  Not everyone aspired to be a hero, the mask realized.

  One day at recess, Teisha carried the mask outside into the sun. She was wearing a light blue, sleeveless top with tiny yellow flowers on the collar. The mask had matched the color and even added little yellow flowers around its eye slot. They sparkled in the sunshine.

  The squeals of the kids sounded through the playground. It was a large expanse of concrete behind the school. On the right side, white chalk lines outlined a basketball court. Portable baskets sat at either end. At least three basketballs were in play with different groups of kids bouncing the ball up and down the court. Other groups of kids jumped rope or clustered around a single phone, playing a videogame.

  Teisha’s usual group of friends were bouncing balls against the yellow brick wall at the back of the school. Several called out to Teisha, waving their arms for her to come over. Teisha smiled and waved back.

  But she didn’t go over.

  Instead she headed across the playground to the far end.

  A narrow gravel patch stretched along the back, right before the chain link fence, separating the back of the playground from the street beyond. As Teisha reached the gravel, her feet kicked up dust that puffed into the air. The bright sun glinted off the silver chain link. Cars rolled by on the street beyond, but their engines were soft rumbles in the distance.

  “Hi,” Teisha said.

  The mask realized that there was a young girl huddled against the fence. Her head was bowed too low for the mask to see her face. Long brown hair, tangled and wavy, hung over it as well. She wore a boxy, dark green dress that managed to look dull even in the sunshine. Her running shoes were a dirty white, covered with dust from the gravel. The shoe laces were frayed on the ends.

  She stood against the fence, angled away from Teisha, hands in front of her. When Teisha said “hi,” those hands started clutching each other.

  “Did you read that story in class?” Teisha asked. “I liked it. I like science fiction.”

  The girl shrugged. “’S okay.”

  “I like how they could make their clothes be different colors,” Teisha said. “Changing the little pieces.”

  “Nanoparticles,” the girl said. Her voice sounded a little stronger. Her head lifted just enough to reveal one startlingly green eye. The other was still covered by the fall of her hair.

  “Right,” Teisha said. She glanced back toward the playground, surveying the area, before turning back to the girl.

  “You’re Casey, right?” she said. The girl gave a ducking nod. Her eye began to disappear behind the curtain of hair again.

  “What if I told you I had something like those clothes,” Teisha said. “Something that can change to match what you’re wearing?”

  The mask felt a trickle of dismay. Teisha was talking about it, for certain. Even without revealing a costume for the mask to take to, she had realized part of what it could do. She was more intelligent than it had thought, but why would she be telling someone about the mask? It sounded unnervingly like bragging.

  She wasn’t like that, was she?

  Had the mask made a huge error in choosing her? Had its desire to escape the shop, to be useful again, clouded its judgment?

  Was Teisha not a hero?

  Casey tilted her head. Her hair fell away, revealing more of her face. Her skin was pale and blotchy. Her nose and lips were thin, but her green eyes were large and bright, even half hidden behind her hair.

  “That’s not possible,” she said.

  “Is too,” Teisha said. “Wanna see?”

  Casey hunched deeper against the chain link fence, as if she could strain herself through it. She gave a half-hearted shrug.

  Teisha lifted the mask up from where it had been tucked into her belt.

  “When I got this, it turned yellow like my top and added little bows on the ends to match,” she said. “But see how it’s light blue to match my top?”

  Casey shook her head. “Nothing can do that.”

  Teisha held the mask out to her. “You try it and see.”

  The mask trembled in her hand. It was confused. It sounded like boasting, at least the words did, sort of, but Teisha’s tone was anything but. She sounded more encouraging, friendly. But she was handing over the mask or at least willing to do that. What was happening? The mask didn’t understand.

  Casey’s hand shook as she reached for the mask. Just before her fingers touched it, she stopped and pulled her hand away. She huddled against the fence, wincing as if expecting to be hit.

  “C’mon, try it,” Teisha said. “I bet you’ll look cool.”

  She stretched her hand closer to Casey.

  This time Casey took the mask, even as her hand shook while doing it.

  Transferring to her, the mask felt the girl’s uncertainty wash over it, followed by a desperate longing. Casey wanted so much to believe Teisha was actually nice and not stringing her along for a greater fall down the road. That had happened so many times before, leaving Casey believing that no one would like her ever. And why would they? She was so ugly with all these red splotches.

  “Put it on,” Teisha said. “I bet it can match your dress. Blend, ya know.”

  She gave an encouraging nod and smiled.

  Blend.

  Now the mask understood.

  How had the mask not seen it before? Of course, Teisha was a hero, just as it had thought at the beginning. But she didn’t need a mask to match a costume. She didn’t need to hide her identity.

  Just as Casey didn’t need the mask to turn green to match her boxy dress.

  But she did need it to hide the blotchy redness, to stop people from staring at the transitory imperfections so they could actually see the beauty underneath. Like those great green eyes, the cute nose, the line of her chin.

  And the sparkle of life that kindled in her eyes.

  Casey lifted the mask and pressed it against her face.

  The mask adhered to her skin and began to blend, smoothing into her skin. No longer did it feel the need to stand out. It wasn’t about hiding anymore, it was about revealing.

  Finally, the mask had a new job, a new purpose. It didn’t have to hide a face, to show off itself in order to be heroic.

  It could blend in, smooth out, be invisible, and let others shine through it. That was heroic.

  A grin lit up Teisha’s face. “You look great!”

  Casey’s lips trembled, turned up a little at the corners. “Really?”

  “Yeah, take a look.”

  Teisha fished out a small, plastic pink, toy compact from her pocket. She handed it to Casey. Casey opened it and slowly lifted it up.

  Her face reflected back, smooth, white, clear of blemishes.

  The mask invisible.

  Casey took a deep breath, a smile blooming her face. “Wow.”

  “Yeah,” Teisha said. “Wanna wear it for the rest of the day?”

  “Could I?” Casey said.

  “Sure.”

  “Um, can I wear it home?” Casey asked. “You could, you know, come for dinner. My mom makes a fab mac and cheese with bacon and jalapeno peppers.”

  “That sounds so good,” Teisha said. “I have to call my mom, but I’m sure she’ll be okay.”

  The bell rang, signalling the end of recess. Casey straightened, and the mask realized she towered over Teisha by several inches.

  The girls began to walk back toward the school, chatting. Soon laug
hter rang out. The mask noticed several other kids turning to look at them, some of them Teisha’s friends. They wandered over and started talking.

  Soon all of them were heading back to class, together. Including Casey.

  Including her with them. She walked with her head up, hair flowing back from her clear face. The mask invisible.

  And yet doing its job.

  Doing what its hero, what Teisha, wanted it to do.

  Just like any good mask should.

  Based in Toronto, Canada, Rebecca M. Senese survives the frigid blasts of winter and boiling steams of summer by weaving words of mystery, horror, science fiction and contemporary fantasy.

  She is the author of the contemporary fantasy series, the Noel Kringle Chronicles featuring the son of Santa Claus working as a private detective in Toronto. Garnering an Honorable Mention in “The Year’s Best Science Fiction,” she has been nominated for numerous Aurora Awards. Her work has appeared in the anthology Obsessions, Fiction River: Superpowers, Fiction River: Visions of the Apocalypse, Fiction River: Sparks, Fiction River: Recycled Pulp, Tesseracts 16: Parnassus Unbound, Imaginarium 2012, Tesseracts 15: A Case of Quite Curious Tales, TransVersions, Future Syndicate, and Storyteller, amongst others. Rebeccasenese.com.

  Eyeless

  Gama Ray Martinez

  Ishtara’s heart raced as she reached up and plucked out her right eye. It hardened, becoming a glass sphere in her hand. Joy rushed through her. She’d never managed to remove an eye before. She turned to Master Malak, who, like her, sat on one of the three empty beds in the basement of his home. To her left eye, he looked like an old man with a silver beard, but her empty socket saw something entirely different. Bright bands of power wrapped around his body, silhouetting his form in a soft green light. Elar flowed across his skin like ropes carried on a river.

  “Very good.” His elar brightened as he spoke.

  She winced and brought a hand to her forehead. “Why does my head hurt?”

  “Remove your other eye. It’s difficult to have both sights open at once.”

  Ishtara nodded. Now that she could see the elar running through her fingers, manipulating it was simpler, and her other eye practically slipped out of her socket. The world went dark, all but the elar. It shimmered around her. Master Malak glowed like a bonfire, but elar ran through all living things. A bright clump sat several feet away, and Ishtara realized it was Malak’s fern. A spark of light darted in front of her, accompanied by the buzzing of a fly’s wings. It landed on her nose, and she brushed it away. She could even see the elar in Tiapa as the housekeeper walked across the room above them.

  “Incredible.”

  Malak laughed. “You’ve only—”

  A loud bang came from above. Malak went silent, and a second later, they heard muffled voices. Malak cursed. “Put your eyes back in. Quickly.”

  Ishtara did as she was told. Her vision returned, but the room spun. She tried to stand, but she couldn’t keep her balance and collapsed back into the bed. The lantern hanging in the corner stabbed into her eyes. Her vision refused to focus, and her head pounded.

  “What’s wrong with me?”

  The hatch in the ceiling opened, but the light was too bright, and Ishtara had to look away. Heavy boots came down the stairs, and Malak threw a blanket over her. He dipped a cloth in a water barrel and placed it on her head. The cold helped a little, but she still felt like she would throw up.

  “What are you doing down here?” a gruff voice asked.

  Ishtara froze, not even trying to see the features of the newcomer. She recognized the accent and wondered if he would kill them. Though it was illegal, no one would ask any questions if an Ontari soldier killed a couple of Ragan.

  “This girl is sick.” Desperation dripped from Malak’s voice. “The light hurts her eyes. I beg you, leave her alone.”

  “Is she Eyeless?”

  “What? No, of course not. It’s just a fever. Please, sir, she needs rest.”

  “Maybe I should question her. The captain would want to know about any Eyeless in town.”

  “No, I promise you, she is not Eyeless.”

  “Or maybe you are. Hiding down here, what else would you be?”

  “Please sir,” Malak pleaded. She heard the jingle of coins. “I’m just a simple healer.”

  “Ragan scum,” the man said, but his footsteps retreated up the stairs. It was only after the door banged shut that Malak let out a breath of relief.

  “Master, I think there’s something wrong with my eyes.”

  “I’m sorry. We rushed that last part.” He removed the cloth from her head and helped her sit up. “Take them out again.”

  This time, it took a few tries. It was difficult enough to manipulate elar without being able to see it. With her vision swimming, she had trouble concentrating, but eventually she managed. Instantly, her headache vanished, and elar came back into view.

  “Switch them,” Malak said. “You had them in the wrong sockets.”

  Ishtara nodded and did as she was told. Her vision returned, this time much clearer. Tiapa stood at the top of the stairs, and Malak waved her down. She wrung her apron in her hands as she descended.

  “I’m sorry about that,” she said.

  “There was no way you could’ve stopped them.”

  Ishtara got to her feet. Malak put a hand on her shoulder, but she was able to keep her balance. She stared up the stairs after the soldier. Rage boiled inside of her. Ever since the Ontari conquered the town of Jonarch, they had held the Ragan people under their thumb.

  “Don’t do anything foolish,” Malak said.

  “What?”

  The old man smirked. “I’ve seen that look on the faces of enough young people to know what it means. When you became my apprentice, you promised you wouldn’t get involved. That hasn’t changed just because you can remove your eyes.”

  “But we could make a difference.”

  Ishtara spoke without thinking, and Malak glared at her. He shot a glance at Tiapa, but the housekeeper was already shuffling up the stairs. As soon as the hatch closed, Malak turned his gaze back at Ishtara, and she took an involuntary step back.

  “You are my apprentice. It is not for you to decide what we can or can’t do.”

  “I’m sorry, master, but we’re Eyeless.” She emphasized the last word as if he didn’t know it. “We could drive them out.”

  To her surprise, Malak laughed. “The only manipulation of elar you’ve done is removing your eyes. Do you really imagine you could fight off an army?”

  Ishtara lowered her head and spoke quietly. “You could. You could block the Erantem Pass and stop them from ever coming into the valley.”

  Malak didn’t respond until she met his eyes. She couldn’t help but wonder how much time he’d spent without those.

  “People believe a lot of nonsense about Eyeless,” he said. “They think we can call lightning from the sky and curse our enemies. The Ontari say we consort with dark powers. Elar is simply the power of life, and that doesn’t easily lend itself to battle.”

  She banged her fists on the bed. “If it’s the power of life, then use it to kill them.”

  Malak shook his head. “Elar can no more end life than a lantern can create darkness. It heals or enhances, but it cannot kill. No, one or two Eyeless cannot fight an army. They will be defeated. I’m sure of that, but it won’t be in a quiet village. Until the day comes when the Ontari are gone, we must both wear the mask of ordinary people.”

  Ishtara spent the next several hours with her eyes out, learning the basics of manipulating elar. She had studied the interactions for months, how the bands attracted or repelled each other based on how they were positioned, but she hadn’t been able to see it until she could remove her eyes. The elar in her body responded easily to her touch, and with a few swipes of her finger, she could concentrate it in her hands and use it to have greater effect on the elar around her.

  Most of her work was done on the fern, and sh
e had to put her eyes back in to see the effects. The plant’s leaves swayed as if a breeze blew across them. She removed her eyes again. There was a slight weakness in one of the stems, and she maneuvered the elar so that it flowed stronger in that area. Given time, that would correct the defect.

  A few leaves had withered, and she plucked a piece of her own elar and put it in the plant. It melded with the plant’s until she couldn’t retrieve it even had she wanted to. The action weakened her, but only as much as losing an ounce of blood would, and like the blood, her elar would eventually recover. She replaced her eyes and watched as the life she’d put into the plant restored the withered leaves to full bloom. She stared in wonder, silently thanking her father for allowing her to study under Malak instead of following his own path as a sculptor.

  “That’s enough for today.” She jumped at the sound of Malak’s voice. “It’ll be dark soon, and I need to walk you home now if I’m to get back before sunset.”

  Ishtara snorted. “We wouldn’t want the Ontari to catch us after curfew.”

  Malak narrowed his eyes. “No, we wouldn’t. Not if we want to avoid suspicion.”

  She nodded once and followed him outside. Most of the people had already hidden, afraid of being caught out after dark. The sun hung just above the western mountains, and a chill wind blew through the empty streets. She huddled into her cloak. Master Malak had said it would be a harsh winter, and the tribute the Ontari had taken would make it harder still. More than one Ragan would be buried by the end of it.

  The inn was the only building that still had light in its windows, and she could hear Ontari laughter coming from inside. She glared at the two-story building, as if her gaze could burrow through the thick stone walls and strike at the soldiers. Malak motioned for her to follow, and they rounded the corner and saw her house. She froze. The sight of the broken door made her blood run cold.

  For a moment, she didn’t comprehend what she was seeing. The next thing she knew, she’d covered half the distance to the house and was running at full speed. Malak called out, but she ignored him. The inside of the house was a wreck. Tables had been overturned, and broken dishes were scattered everywhere. A coppery scent hung in the air, though in her panic, she didn’t recognize it. She tore through the house, looking for some sign of her parents. Finally, she noticed that the door to her father’s workshop had been forced open. Through the doorway, she saw half-finished marble statues. Rock dust carpeted the floor, and a trickle of blood created a tiny river through the room.